Helical Falling
by SicklePickle
Summary: It was as if it was all in slow motion, when those eyes met mine. In that moment, he knew me. And oh, how nice it was. MattMello. AU. NC-17.


_AN: Howdy :-)_

_It is I, Zxylem (Or 'Sickle' from SicklePickle) bring you all a new fic, and if you are familiar with my (deleted by fan-f) work, Narcissist Diaries, then you know what I'm all about; drugs and angst! XD And if you enjoy anguish, drama and romance, then you'll love this._

_Disclaimer: Ohba and Obata own Death Note, not me._

_Rating : NC-17_

_Warnings: Contains strong language, **excessive drug use**, yaoi, het, lemons, crooked politicians, prostitution, alcohol use, gangs, guns, blood, drug dealings, violence, and much more to come._

_Helical Falling-*_

_Summary : It was like it was in slow motion, when those eyes met mine. In that moment, he knew me. And oh, how nice it was. MattMello. AU. NC-17._

* * *

_"_

_Take me to the docks, there's a ship without a name there_  
_And it is sailing to the middle of the sea_  
_The water there is deeper than anything you've ever seen_  
_Jump right in and swim until you're free_

_I will remember your face_  
_'Cause I am still in love with that place_  
_But when the stars are the only __things we share_

_Will you be there?_

_"Atlas Hands" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich_

* * *

_Not Beta'd_ : Ignore the grammatical errors, please!

* * *

_Act One: Meet_

* * *

_**R**_eporters nearly come in their pants when the President of the French Republic graces his heaven-sent eyes upon the mass of unworthies foaming at the mouth in anticipation of his words. He does, and with hushed, bated breaths, he speaks.

"Hello, everyone. I'm sure you all know of the news for my hope for re-election, so please, if any of you wish to ask, I shall be more than happy to answer your questions." The award-winning smile meets his face, and every being there are too busy basking in the ambiance of it, to notice the god-awful, condescending narrowing of the eyes, and that teeth grating, elitist tone of his.

Or that is, until some unexperienced, brave or just stupid intern speaks up.

"Monsieur Presidente!, is it true that you have a less than loving relationship with your son?"

And for a moment, he stiffens and his true, assholish self emerges from the deep waters of pretentious facades, but as quick it is here, it is gone, and an overly practiced laugh bubbles from his lips. "Well, of course not. I very much love my son. In fact, I am sure he would love to here, by my side. But alas, he wanted to find his own way and pursue his dreams as a professional photographer, in which I fully support-"

Bullshit.

I turn off the television, tempted to kick it, but decide against it, considering if I break it, I'd have to go to the Circuit City, and buy another one, and that means 'human and social interaction', and I prefer heavily not to communicate with human beings other than the little voice in my head.

However, fate has another thing in store for me, because when I consider laying back down, and sleeping away my newfangled anger, my cell phone rings, and immediately, I know who it is.

"What is it, Light?" I groan.

"Classes are starting, dearest Mail." My 'friend' smirks over the phone.

I never understood it, though, how a introverted, socially awkward hermit became friends with Mr. Popular, Light Yagami, I have no idea. He's literally everything I'm not; he's finely built, graced with that golden skin tone that everyone here in California wishes to have, always has perfect hair, and then there's me, the tall, lanky guy with the wild mess of naturally cherry hair, and annoying, easily burnt, pale skin and freckles.

Whereas people refer to him as one of those really done up, immaculate looking models, people refer to me as the guy who looks like Chuckie from that show these Americans used to watch as kids.

But anyways, in a frantic attempt to avoid the extroverted, '_cool kids_' at Otis, I enrolled in night classes, only to realize that most of them did too, and there was a piss-ton of nightclubs right next to the campus, so there would be no need to go home to head out again later.

Which, I admit, is smart for them, but horrible for me.

So Light fills me in on this party that he was especially invited to, and was told to bring someone. He chooses me, of course, but not because he likes me that much, it's only because he doesn't want his girlfriend to go, but she will find a way to go anyways.

Strangely enough, I don't think Light likes his girlfriend.

I roll my eyes mentally, but I agree. Most of the time, whenever I am at one of Light's many festivities, I hide quietly behind the bevvy of party-goers and find somewhere to catch up on my homework, or play a few games on my PSP.

Call me a loser, whatever.

Frankly, I think the ones who drink themselves into a haze and have no control about what goes on around them are the real losers. What's the point of that? That's how girls and guys go missing, because their logic is thrown out of the window with the first roofie-drenched drink.

So I get up, and shower, and shave my face because the little, tiny red hairs on my chin look like I was eating a vanilla ice cream cone, and some sprinkles got stuck to my face.

I walk towards my walk-in closet, and grab a random, striped shirt and some drainpipe jeans and slip them on, without ironing it and stuff my sock-covered feet into combat boots, and place my green tinted goggles over my eyes.

Don't ask. It's not that I don't like my eyes, it's just that _other people _don't like my eyes, and I don't like drawing attention to myself.

Before goggles, it used to be dark shades, but I kept humming to 'I Wear My Sunglasses At Night' at the most random times, and I would really freak people out, so I upgraded. It was weird to buy it at Walmart, because I had to explain to the cashier girl that it was for me, and not my little brother.

I head out, and grab my fur trimmed vest and messenger bag, and venture off to Otis.

It's a large, spacious campus, and completely different from anything I'd ever seen before when I was still in Paris.

I've only been in America for around a year, it had been hard to adjust to everything, considering there was such a blend here, the university was considered the suburbs, but where I live is considered 'the bad part of the neighborhood'. It's not the best neighborhood, I'll admit, but it's the cheapest apartment I can get and I'm quite stubborn when I want to be and I don't want to touch a dime of what my father left in my bank account.

I'm sure you can piece it together. The French President is my father, he didn't like that I didn't want to follow into politics, and that I wasn't conservative like him, and thought everyone was equal and should treat each-other as such.

So not only did he kick me out, but he threw a brigade of money at me, and told me to fuck off.

So, I did. And I went to the country of equality that he hated so much; America.

So far, it's been the most diverse place I've ever seen, and sure everyone here is rather aggressive, especially those men and women in the 'gangs', but between each-other, they hold each other as family. I never did get to see the Urban life in Paris, because my father sheltered me away from it, but I'm sure it's just like the Caged City from District B-13.

Anyways, I'm now in philosophy class, and our old-as-dirt professor who refuses to retire has fallen asleep, and I think I shall follow in his footsteps for once.

I think it's nice that one person can be so dedicated to their job.

I want to meet someone who is as passionate about their career like that.

But maybe later on in life, when I learn to talk to people without stuttering, or maybe when my accent isn't so heavy.

* * *

_**W**_hen I catch up with Light, it's around ten at night, and he has a scantily clad Misa hanging on his shoulder, he seems annoyed that she found a way to go to the party, but remains silent about it.

He barely looks at me, but I'm far used to it now, and just sit quietly in the back of his shiny sports car, and put on my oversized head-band headphones and dabble on my phone for a while.

I like to do things on my phone, probably more than most people my age, like type little things in the 'notes' section, about my father, or about any kind of way I can improve myself. I'm possibly more imperfect than everyone in this world, so I like to make little changes to myself now and then, like teach myself to cook, or to get a haircut, and buy a shirt that doesn't have stripes.

We reach Mikami Teru, another Japanese student's house, it's spacious, and a around a mile away from my apparently 'horrific' neighborhood. Light, Misa, and Mikami tease me repeatedly about it, especially when I say I enjoy living there. I do. The people who belong to gangs aren't trash like my father says, but people who need to belong.

Anyways, when we get there, it's just like any party that I've been to; ignorant teenage girls accepting drinks from predatory strangers, belligerent males chest bumping to everything, and it is basically everything that I can't stand rolled into one.

One girl finds her way to me, her overly ample chest press into the side of my arm. "Hi, French hottie...you gonna teach me the ways of romance?" She purrs, and I shiver involuntarily at the ridiculous slather of makeup on her face. She would be pretty without it, I think, and then maybe I would be interested in her romantically, but not now. Not when the lack of enamel on her teeth and the sicklish jutting of collarbones show that she has a possibly really bad eating disorder.

"It's not worth it..." I say to her. "You should like _you _before they like you..." She hears me, and a frown meets her painted lips, and she falls silent. I smile a little at her look of now introspection, and walk through the mass of girls just like her. I shake my head so much at offered drinks and brownies that I think my brain wants to fall out of my head.

I find a nice couch to sit on, and pull out my PSP, like every other night, prefer the company of video games over people with feelings that I can not share, nor reciprocate.

After a few hours, I beat the game, and rescue the princess. The hero stabs the evil villain, Gannondorf through the skull with his sword. There is no blood, but it's still disturbing for a children's game. I look up, and unfortunately, the party is still very much going on. A few people are kissing or vomiting, some sleep, while others draw lewd images on them with permanent marker. I get up, and stretch, and move to find Light, or Mikami. It's late and I have homework to do, and photos to take in the morning.

I walk down a bunch of hallways, and that's when I find them, Light and Misa, mouths glued together. It's apparent that Light is drunk, because it is only when he's drunk that he's 'affectionate' to Misa.

"Light..." I start, and I'm ignored.

I tap him, and he shoos me away.

I frown, and speak. "I'm going home, Light. It's late."

Still nothing, other than a stomach-churning squeak from Misa.

I sigh, and fight off the anger within me. "À tout à l'heure..." I mutter, and walk off.

The house is large, and I almost trip over passed out bodies.

I'm running on nothing but pure adrenaline when I spot it.

One girl is unconscious and two guys advance up to her, and I sweep in quickly, calling her my sister. The lie is unbelievable, considering the difference between our races, but I quietly add in 'adopted', and they let up, and stumble away. Frowning, I take the girl to a room and place her under the covers. I check her pulse, and breathe a little in relief. She is rather small, and probably helpless and I can't help but feel bad for the many girls who didn't have French introverted nerds to save them. The worst thoughts bubble up inside my head about what could have happened to this girl, and a churning sends a nauseous feeling in my stomach.

I close the door and go downstairs, by now, things are growing more and more illegal by the minute, and I wish to leave as soon as I can.

I don't look for Mikami, and I just decide to walk home. It is a long walk to my apartment, true, but I like to walk alone, and think.

All I can think about was how horrible the outcome of that party will be.

That, and I need to learn to start saying 'no' to Light more often.

* * *

_**I**_t is quiet here, in the suburban part of Los Angeles, but soon, after following countless trees and stone paths set for bikes, I reach the urban area, and no one is asleep.

I nod my head to a few guys with low pants, and tough expressions. They would murder me if I ever told anyone that I nursed their pet female pit-bull back to health, so we remain cool, I give them weekly checkups for their dogs, and they assure me that I can walk the street and not worry about anything bad happening to me.

It is when I round a corner, preparing for another nightly routine, that it happens.

You know in those movies when they show an attractive person, and the wind blows through their hair just to emphasize said attractiveness?

Well, this just happened.

A nonchalant pose this person has, back leaning against the wall, one long, shapely leg bent and placed against it. Shoulder length dandelion blonde hair flows in the wind, and sharp cut bangs don't allow me to see this person's eyes.

The person waits, futzing around with a small, black device, and seems to look impatient. The unknown stranger has golden tinted skin, and wears dark leather in the form of a vest and pants.

I don't know this person, I've never seen them in my neighborhood before, and it is possibly dangerous to be in this empty space with just us, however, I ignore the potential danger in this.

It doesn't register to me what I'm doing until I'm crossing the street and I'm venturing unconsciously towards them.

When I'm a few centimeters away, I'm taken back once again.

My breath catches up in my throat, and my mouth goes dry when I see up close just how physically beautiful this person is.

It's the kind of beautiful I have never seen before, the kind of beautiful I can spend all day in bed, just us, staring at, without growing bored. The unconventional beautiful that seems almost too beautiful to be real.

I know I keep repeating the words, but that's all that comes to mind.

_Beautiful... beautiful..._

The beauty only reaches my chin, but then again, I've been told that I **_am_** freakishly tall.

Sharp, slanted eyes lazily roll up to meet mine. They are a pretty, bright teal color that reminds me of an abandoned ocean at a beach, somewhere in a remote location, maybe in Tuvalu somewhere.

Those eyes flicker down to the little device again, and then back up to me. I'm still frozen up, and I know I've embarrassed myself, but I don't want to leave. Not yet.

"Are you my number forty four?" The person finally speaks. Low, deep and silky. It is a male, and I find myself now wanting to hear him speak all the time.

I don't know how to react, and I grow relieved when I hear a heavy Russian accent, it feels nice to not be the only European immigrant now.

"I..." I start off, but he kicks his foot off the wall and faces me completely now, and all words I planned to say have died.

"Let me guess..." He starts, looking me up and down. "Shrooms, right? No... angel dust... no, no... judging by that outfit... you want "ice", right?"

When I don't answer, his eyes harden. "Look, you're gonna have to help me out here... I'm no good at '_guess-what-the-druggie's-into_'..."

I don't know what he is talking about, but I just want him to keep talking so after a few of his naming, I nod at one of it.

He raises an eyebrow. "Purple?" He scoffs. "Today's youth always go for the shit that _won't_ kill you..." He shakes his head, clearly disappointed. "Well, how much you want? Nick? Dime? _Ounce_?"

"Er..." I try to speak further, but it fails.

He stares, apprehensively, all of a sudden. "Wait, you're not slow or anything like that, right? You understand me, _da_?"

I stare in confusion. "Wh-"

"_English_, motherfucker. Do you speak it?"

I frown at the acrid swear that escapes from his lips. "Yes..." I mutter, looking down.

He nods, his stance still guarded. "Alright. How much?"

I beg my mouth to start moving. "Well-"

He then looks over his shoulder. "Fuck..." He sighs, before darting forward and hastily grabbing my wrist.

It burns for a minute and I flinch at the chilling after effect. But he tugs hard, and I follow his lead.

Behind me, I can hear the volume of sirens, and swearing again, he pushes a door open, and drags me up the stairs. I let him, piteously ecstatic that he is still touching me.

We reach what I believe is the fourth floor, and he locks the door behind us. He moves to look out of the window, and after a while, he moves away.

He then yawns, and digs in one of his bags that now rest on the floor. "Whether you like it or not, I'm charging you for an ounce. You almost got me caught, _dumbass_. I should kick your ass for that..." He trails off, but doesn't sound too mad.

_Almost playful..._

"Is this your home?" I speak up, proud that I can now form a sentence.

He fixes me a dry look, and I nervously tug at my hair. "Now, why the fuck would I do that? This is a half-way house, you know... for people like _you_. Lay off the crystal, seriously."

He throws me something, a sandwich bag filled with what seems to be purplish green, opened tea bags.

But a strong, bitter stench hits me, and I immediately think back to District 13.

I had seen movies with illegal substances in it, but never have I been this up close to it.

My eyes widen when I look at him staring at me, expectedly.

It all pieces together now, I guess.

The mysterious person with the pretty, hard eyes is a drug dealer.

His job is breaking the law.

What he's doing is illegal.

Very illegal.

I don't voice any of it, it's not like I've never heard of drug dealers in France before. They have crime everywhere, I'm not naive.

But it's different with him.

Or at least, I think it is.

"I included the rolling papers. You're good now, yeah?" He asks.

I nod, despite myself.

"So..." He starts, "You gonna do it here? Because I have another customer on hold."

The thought of him leaving sends me into a mini-panic attack. "Er... I don't... um..." I stop, looking down at the bag.

He stares for a moment, then slowly, his brows shoot up. "You're having a laugh right now..."

I shake my head in response.

"You don't know how to..." He cuts himself off, sucks his teeth and grabs the bag out of my hand, motioning for me to follow him down the hallway.

"...Fucking hell, follow me..."

* * *

_**W**_e make it to the abandoned bedroom.

It's cramped and the walls are peeling, and it is obvious that others come here to partake in this because there are syringes and broken pipes littered across the floor. I'm uncomfortable, but he slides next to me, and immediately I feel better.

He sits cross legged on the floor, I'm drawn to them, especially the shiny leather that covers it up. He pulls out little papers and pinches little tidbits of the 'purple', and place it in the middle of the opened, tiny paper. Then, he lifts it up and my eyes are staring especially intently when his tongue darts out to lick at the paper, my eyes sting because I haven't blinked yet, but I don't mind. The paper is then rolled and it looks a bit like a cigarette. Even more so, when he pulls out a lighter.

Lighting the end of it, he puts the unlawful contraption to his lips, and inhales. I watch, shamelessly fascinated when he blows the smoke out, and leans forward and flips it, so that the tip his mouth was just on is hovers in front of mine. I lean a little, and try to repeat his actions, and inhale.

The minute I do, I cough and sputter repeatedly, I hear a sigh of exasperation escape him, and immediately my face flushes in embarrassment.

"Ugh..." He snorts, frowning in disapproval. "You toke like a bitch..."

"S...sorry..." I wheeze.

A ghost of a smile meets his lips. "You know, You are... possibly the _lamest_ drug addict I have ever met..."

When I get my breathing under control, I ask what has been on my mind ever since I saw him.

"What's your name?" I ask, trying as hard as I can not to sound desperate.

I'm met with an eyebrow raise. "That's a strange question, considering I just insulted you."

It goes quiet for a few moments, and I look around for something to do, and eventually I find the choke-causing cigarette thing.

I start to take several more pulls on the 'purple', and when I do, I start to feel lighter. Much, much lighter, and he looks down to count the money I don't remember giving him.

"Where are you from?" I ask, feeling slightly more confident now, even if he didn't answer my first question.

"Saint Petersburg..." He replies, flicking through the twenties, he doesn't seem to notice me anymore, and I find myself hurt by it.

"Okay..." I whisper.

It is a few minutes later that he mutters something in the now silent room.

"Huh?" I ask.

"Mello..." He repeats. "It's my name..."

My heavy, half-lidded eyes snap to him.

"Oh... I'm Mai..." I stop. "Matt... Matt Jeevas..."

I don't think I hear him even if he responds. By now, I've finished the first and second cigarette looking thing that he makes, and everything is hazy, and blurry, and I feel like I weigh close to nothing.

I fall onto my back, and stare up at the ceiling, everything moves, and I feel as if I spun around a thousand times.

I don't realize that I'm moving any limbs, until Mello laughs a little. "Are you really making a snow angel using broken crack pipes?"

I stop my sluggish movements, and turn my unfocused eyes on him. His laugh is beautiful, and he should do it more often. I return it.

"I feel... weird..." I giggle out, trying to do some sort of awkward jumping jacks while still on my back.

He laughs again. "Yeah, because I laced your shit, _duh. _Almost as good as your meth, or acid or whatever you use, right?"

A dirty, crackled syringe digs in my back, but I don't care.

I feel good.

I feel amazing.

_I feel light..._

The minutes pass, and I realize I've been babbling for the whole time I thought everything was silent.

"...I like to take pictures, and I got accepted to Otis school for art and design-"

"Wait, you're in _college_? Figures why you go for the hard stuff..." Mello replies, rolling his eyes.

"I was at a party, though, I don't like to go to parties, and I don't really like people. Especially not people like you-"

His previously semi-relaxed demeanor hardens again. "What do you mean, _people _like me?"

I wince internally, but flail my arms silently to form an explanation. "Y'know, the really attractive lot at Otis don't really seem to like me. You seem like the kind of person who'd be friends with them-"

"Oh, so I'm _shallow _now?"

I try to sit up, but the world keeps spinning. "Wh-what? Mello, no-"

He glares daggers into my face and it hurts, it hurts worse than being poked with needles and risking Hepatitis.

"So, because I'm a drug dealer, it means that I'm automatically a vain, self-centered asshole with no compassion for others then?"

By now, I'm close to either crying or throwing up. "I-I j-just-"

Suddenly, the anger dissipates and a grin meets his lips. "...I'm just busting your balls."

I blink slowly, far too close to passing out now, the weight off my chest now leaves me weightless. "Oh... er... that's good?"

And that laugh again. "Perhaps... You're fun to fuck with, Matty. Shame you're so fucked up inside, it'd be cool to be friends with you, or well, before you overdose like the rest, I guess..."

He laughs once more and I return it, albeit a nervous one. Did this 'purple' kill people and slowly eat at them until they were nothing but bones and sorrow like in that television show about getting family people help?

But...

Surely something that makes people feel good can do them bad, right? If it did, it shouldn't.

But I was new to this, and I did not want this feeling or Mello to go away.

The third roll of 'purple' is finished, and I can't move.

I can, however, snicker at every little thing, and attempt at dancing, which I find myself doing alot.

Mello tries his hardest not to laugh. "This is almost sad to watch..." He notes.

But I don't hear anything anymore.

I watch the color now dot the plain white ceiling, it's incredible, the euphoria that surges through me, it has made me forget everything around me. It's like nothing wrong can happen now.

I freeze up when Mello kneels over me, slipping a card into my numb hand.

Our noses touch, and our breaths mingle together-or rather, his, because I lost the ability to a while ago.

It feels perfect, together like this.

But then it is broken, and he speaks.

"I normally don't trust having '_regulars_', but for you, dearest nut-job ginger, I'll take that chance. Have fun riding out your high..."

Then he leaves.

And I feel empty again, despite the rush still surging through me.

* * *

**_I_ **finish one, two, three more rolls of the 'purple'.

I don't feel better.

I just want Mello here.

I just want my father to accept me.

I just want to sleep...

* * *

**_S_**hortly after composite writing class is over, thoughts of the blonde plague me and buzz around my mind once again like angry gnats. It's been seventeen hours, and twenty six minutes, since I've last seen him, and I don't like it.

I don't like how I feel.

I yearn for a person, whom I don't even know.

But that does not matter.

When my day is over, I will call again.

And again, and again.

_Whatever it takes to see him once more..._

My thoughts are ripped from me, however, when Misa suddenly presses herself up against my shoulder.

"Matty-kins!" She gushes, and I cringe from the volume. "Are you gonna come to Lighty's party tonight? Like, _everyone_'s gonna be there!"

I try to think hard, and remove myself from my mind, in order to drown out her woes about what new shoes she has to buy, and how perfect Light is.

I want Mello here.

I do.

Next to me.

But I doubt he would stay with me, unless something, anything of monetary value was dangled in front of him, like a chew toy, in return.

I feel a frown pull at my lips, forced to still hear the tiresome palaver of the bleach blonde hanging off of me, despite my attempts to do otherwise.

What could I do...?

And then it hits me, this grand, grand idea.

My eyes go wide with the sudden realization.

And like I'm in need of an exorcism, my head turns painstakingly slow to meet Misa's eyes.

"Misa..." I start, awkwardly breaking her out of her clamor. "Er... um... how many people are going to be at Light's party tonight?"

She stops, and does this weird pouty thing and tilts her head. To some, it would look cute, to me, it was just childish.

"Weeeellll, there's Wedy, and Aiber, and Matsuda, and Halle, and Gevanni, and Nate, and Beyond, and Linda, and Naomi, and Raye, and-"

I grit my teeth, and wince, desperate for her to shut up.

"_**Okay-**_" I bark, instantly quieting her. I try hard to control my anger, but there is only so much babbling a person can take.

Quickly recovering myself, I give her a small smile. "Um, it sounds really fun. I'd love to go... Thing is, can I bring someone?"

Her doe eyes don't blink like they are supposed to, and it creeps me out to the max.

She stares ahead, for a moment, silent, as if in a trance.

Jolting a little, she then grins big. "Of _course_ you can, Matty~!" She surges forward suddenly, and pulls me into a spine-crushing embrace. I try to discreetly gasp for breath, but I fail, and wheeze loudly at the sudden loss of air.

She rips herself off of me suddenly, quietly stares at me a little more, and then daintily saunters off.

The freaked out look on my face stays there until she is at least thirty feet from me.

_If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was on..._

No.

I block that thought from my head, and smile a little at the silly thought.

Never.

Not Misa.

* * *

**_A_**fter a long, silent stare-down with my cellular phone, my trembling, freakishly-long fingers dial the numbers.

While attempting to press the device to my ears, I drop it.

In an instant, I turn into Solid Snake.

Panicking, I fumble and do some sort of split-leg, awkward, ballerina thing to prevent it from hitting the floor.

My sweating fingers smears all over the screen, and I curse anxiously under my breath.

A beat passes, and I finally collect myself.

The sound of someone picking up the phone sends my heart hammering with half excitement, half dread.

"Yes? You've reached Mike's Pizza. How may I help you?"

Balking suddenly, I purse my lips, utterly disgruntled. I don't know how to feel, so my voice cracks against my will. "E-ehm, I'm terribly s-sorry, this must be the wrong n-"

I'm cut off by snickering.

"Ahh, I don't think fucking with you will _ever_ get old, I swear.." A familiar voice sounds over the phone.

I stiffen up, and puff out a breath of relief when I hear his voice back to its normal pitch.

My train of thought is lost, my logic, as well.

"Hi... M-Mello..." I stammer, and silently curse at myself for the lack of control in my words.

He has picked up...

This is what I wanted.

...Right?

He has picked up, now what?

Damn it.

_Time to finally just grow a pair, Mail..._ I hiss to myself.

"Heh, I thought you'd be od'd in someone's garden by now. Or are you getting clean now? Withdrawal hitting you yet?"

He laughs, and I frown, despite myself.

The laugh he lets out, is the laugh that could make everyone else laugh as well.

It's mocking, and cruel, and cold.

I then remember his ice-clipped eyes, and it hurts.

I don't revel in my stinging heart, though, and I clear my throat.

"I have a proposition for you..." I start, and he is speaking again.

I can envision his brow raising, and I smile a little at the mental imagery. "Oh?" He chimes, mockingly .

I look down at my floor.

I do not know what I expected from him, or this conversation.

But whatever I subconsciously wanted, it was not this.

"I just... I thought you would like to hear it, is all..." I whisper, lowly.

He goes quiet, and I begin to hope far too much that he regrets his earlier words.

But hope is for the weak, like my father said.

"Ask away, Matty..." I can practically _feel_ the smirk in his words.

And I do.

* * *

**_M_**ello looks around, slowly, with a sly smirk plastered onto his face, his cat-like eyes dragging over the brigade of irresponsible, eager to rebel teens.

I think this may the closest he's come to looking happy since I have met him.

It has only been two days, but it feels like a lifetime.

I want this for all eternity, I think irrationally to myself, my eyes don't leave the leather clad male.

He speaks, and my attention is once again, on him only.

"I think I've hit the contraband-compensation jackpot here... so many fuck-ups, so little time...I'm going to make a fortune by exploiting these little disappointments, I can already feel it..." He purrs, with a sardonic, small laugh.

I stare at him for a minute, before he pushes off the wall and ventures into the crowd, the innings of his jacket riddled with a variety of mind altering substances.

I watch him.

He does not turn to look back at me, once.

I hurt again.

* * *

_**I**_'ve taken a liking to walking up and down different hallways. The structure of this house, so far, is beautiful. Different, innocent pictures of Light and his family decorate the walls. It's weird, seeing Light once a gleeful boy, now a manipulative player, who uses his body, and charm to get wherever he wants.

I stop, and freeze up in horror, and my mind does not realize just what it's seeing.

Mello stands, in his usual stance, while Misa, and her five inch heels, allow them to see eye to eye, places money into Mello's awaiting palm.

I pray to God it's money for a drink, or maybe lipstick...

Just not...

But it isn't.

He hands her a small baggie filled with white powder, and I feel a little dead inside.

No...

Not Misa...

Not the innocent girl who still plays with dolls, and dreams of the perfect, pink-flowered wedding.

Not the girl that's...

_Expecting Light's child..._

She promised not to say anything to Light, so I didn't.

I feel ill.

When Misa stumbles away, I walk briskly to Mello who counts his money, nonchalantly.

Like it is nothing.

Like he didn't just give a pregnant woman potentially fatal, illegal substances.

I stare at him in pure disbelief.

A part of me wants to know if he knows, so I ask.

"M...Mello..." I say, through a shuddery breath. "She's pregnant..."

I expected shock, outrage, shame, _something_...

_Anything _but a blank stare.

A fair brow raises, and he doesn't look up from his money. "And?"

I get anxious, fast, and try to reiterate. "Sh-she's with _child_-"

He finally looks up, his hard eyes finding mine. I fight off a flinch.

"Do I look like a **_fucking_ **social worker to you?" He asks, glaring chillingly at me.

I'm desperate to form words, to scream, to say something.

But I can't.

A smirk finds his face. "Oh, I've made a fuck-load off of these wasters. And as a present to you, I've decided to give you a little something on the house..."

Into my palm, a baggie filled with little pills are placed into it.

"It's speed..." He says, grinning. "Go on, you don't have to pay for it, I swear..."

I look into his cat eyes and I become lost in them.

So unfeeling, it's scary.

Misa has an addiction.

Misa has an addiction, and her baby will die.

Misa has an addiction, and her baby will die, and I'm falling for the one responsible for it.

I pop one.

Our eyes meet.

And I feel better.

* * *

_A_aaaand, I'm finished.

Extremely short, I know, but the first chapter can't be too long, or else, it'd throw everything off course.

Well, peoples, did you all like it?

It's no secret that I'm an angst-and-self-destruction lover, when it comes to books and movies, because usually, the person's fight to get better emerges them as victorious in the end, and they successfully kick their habit. (I.e Basketball Diaries, Ray, etc)

Anyhoo, did you all like it? I've never done a Death Note fic before, but I loved the show, and decided 'ahh, what the hell'.

Pleeeeasssseeeee review and tell me you liked it, or hated it, or if you want me to update, either is fine. :D

Well, I'll see you guys next chapter (or not, it depends if you can tolerate this fic)

Ja Ne!

-Zxylem/Sickle


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